


Bigger Army Diplomacy || FraUK

by jazzyowo



Category: Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: CountryHumans - Freeform, F/M, FraUK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzyowo/pseuds/jazzyowo
Summary: Freedom. That’s what the two want. But will they get it? Now that, is the question.
Relationships: France/United Kingdom (Anthropomorphic)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. I

France looked out into her flower garden that she kept herself, despite her mother’s wishes. That was what she did best. Defy people’s wishes.   
She let out a small sigh as she saw her mother start traipsing over her flower garden.  
“France! Get over here!” Her mother yelled. While she was contemplating not going down, a voice spoke behind her.   
_“Maybe you should go down, it could be important,”_ Her dead sister called behind France.   
France took a few steps forward before saying; “Monarchy, we all know it’s not going to be.” She turned around and looked at her ghost sister. Monarchy just shrugged and looked back at France.   
_“Who’s we all?_ _And besides, I’m just saying that it_ could _be important!”_ Monarchy bugged her. 

Oh yeah, Monarchy. Died in 1789 by the hands of France, who was then Revolution. Ever since then she haunted France and was a major pain in the ass. 

“Alright, alright, fine, I’ll go down. Happy?” France begrudgingly muttered. 

“Yes, very.” Her sister nodded. 

“Good, that makes one of us.” France grumbled as she climbed down the stairs to the sitting room where her mother sat, waiting for her. 

“France, why does it take you more than five seconds to come down when I call you?” Her mother complained directly at her. 

Monarchy took advantage of the fact no one could see her and yelled; “Yeah France, why do you?” 

France jabbed her thumb towards the stairs as her mother took a sip of the tea a servant had just brought her. 

“Sit, daughter. I wonder why you are not wearing the dress your father brought for you.” Her mother looked at her in disgust. True, the dress France was wearing looked more of a work dress than ever, but it still fitted the proper equity her mother always told her. It was a very simple purple dress that reached almost floor length, with a plunging v-neck and a green fitted shirt under it with gold strings crisscrossing over it, keeping the shirt in place. The dress was tied back with a tendril of gold silk, and she wore it everywhere. 

France ignored her mother’s comment and definitely did not sit. “Why do you want me here?” 

“I told you to get dressed. Your father is coming home today, and we are going to the kingdom of England to work out peace negotiations. They have a son that is your age, and I expect you to make friends with him. If not, then you will be the hole in our plans.” 

“What do you mean hole in our plans?” 

“Well, if you befriend him, it’ll be even worse for them when we betray them.” 

Ah, the English kingdom. The one with the most rivalries in the whole European block. Any country you could name, there was an eighty percent chance that they were rivals with. 

So naturally, England had to make diplomatic ties with any country he could. 

And what better than an arranged marriage? 

“For the last time, I don’t want to marry her! I mean, Spain, really?” The young boy sighed in exasperation, while his father rubbed his temples. Life was not great in the English kingdom. 

England leaned back on his desk and faced his son, looking him straight into the eye. 

“Listen, this could be a good alliance, so please go with it. You’re only getting married for Heaven’s sake!” He turned around and started looking for a book while his son still complained. 

“You don’t know Spain as well as I do. She’s a whore, a-“ 

“Jack, we don’t use those words in our house.” England was about to walk out the door when The UK suddenly grabbed his arm. 

“If she says no, you will not force her.” 

The phone rang. England picked it up. 

“Hello?”

“Yes,” 

“But of course!” 

“Yes!” 

“How about tomorrow evening? My son has a perviously scheduled appointment,” 

“Alright,” 

“Yes, Monday,” 

“Goodbye,” 

England looked back at his son, who he was previously arguing with, who was now bouncing around excitedly. “Who was it? What did they want? What’s on Monday?”   
“Well, it’s Normandy. And she wants to sort out a peace.” 


	2. II

“Ack-“ 

France groaned in displeasure as the servant who was tightening her dress made it as if she couldn’t breathe. 

“Could you make it a tad loose?” She asked. Bad decision. The maid, presumably having a grudge against her, pretended to loosen it up, but really actually tightened it. 

I’ll just loosen it by myself, she noted as the servant put the clasps on. She put on a necklace with a pendent on it, engraved with some Latin saying. 

She stared at the girl in the mirror, who looked nothing like her. Her toothpaste like hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with a few tendrils hanging out, but painful nonetheless. A white silk dress hung from her figure, seemingly lose but extremely tight on the inside. Two golden clasps hung around her waist, thick as an inch, and of course her necklace. Every aspect of it was painful, and she was expected to wear this for at least a few hours. The most, a day. 

What was so bad about this day? 

They were going over to the English kingdom to attempt to sort out an alliance with the kingdom, or at least a peace.

Which was something France definitely did not want. 

She groaned for the second time that evening as her sister appeared from wherever ghosts likes to hangout when they didn’t bother people. 

“Is that you?” Monarchy asked in disbelief as she pointed at the girl’s reflection. 

“Yes, Monarchy. You don’t have to look so surprised,” France commented as she saw her sisters face. 

“Still... the carriage is here,” 

“Was that what you were doing?” France teased her sister. “Or were you hanging out with some ghost boys?” 

Monarchy turned a deathly shade of white, her way of blushing. “How would you know? I’m a ghost.” 

France ignored her and continued down the stairs, loosening up her dress as she went. 

They arrived at the carriage just as it was about to leave. Their mother looked at them with a disdainful glance. Sitting down on the cushion, France combatted her mother’s glare with a snarky look. 

Her mother sighed in exasperation. “Why must you always be rude to me? I am your mother, for heaven’s sake!” 

France didn’t have the heart to tell her that in fact, she wasn’t. Well, she was, but France’s mother never acted like it. 

“Because you are my mother, mother.” She retorted back. Sadly enough, this was a daily occurrence. 

France stared out the window at the rolling hills as her mother continued to scold her about things she’d never do. 

She happened upon a map after a few minutes of this. France rolled it open, while looking out the window for any signs that might alert her of where they were. Spotting a sign that said, ‘Border crossing 50 miles’, she frantically stared at the map, trying to figure out how many miles to the border with the Belgium kingdom. She found it, then started tracing their route to the English kingdom, but stopped when they had stopped abruptly. 

“What...?” 

“One of the horses was not fed earlier today,” 

“Ah,” 

“Get your fucking shirt on, Kingdom, we’re going to be late,” Wales paced around the room as her brother scrambled around the bed, trying to find his shirt. 

“What did ma say about girls not swearing?” 

“Fuck you, your shirt is right here.” She said, holding up his one dress shirt. He looked dumbfounded at her, because he’d searched that place over and under again, but here Wales was, showing him his shirt like it was so obvious. 

He swapped out his pajama shirt for the dress shirt, and then he finally looked presentable, or so he thought. 

“Get over here,” Wales muttered, dragging him by his ear over to the sink. She grabbed one of his combs and swept it to one side, and he looked considerably better. “Now you’re ready.” 

“You’re not.” 

“I’m not the oldest.” 

“You’re still expected to be there!” 

“Fine,” His sister begrudgingly agreed, walking over to her room. Britain sat on his bed, waiting for his sister to get back so they could go downstairs. 

Ah, his sister. He always considered her his favorite of his two siblings, but he never told Northern Ireland, that would crush him. Well, Northern Ireland technically was their cousin, but due to Ireland being missing in action at the moment, they took in Northern and raised him as their own son. What a sob story. 

“I’m ready!” Wales called out. Jack walked over to the 12 year old’s room, taking notice that Northern Ireland wasn’t in his room. 

“Have you seen your brother?” He asked the smaller country. 

“No, why?” 

“Goddamnit!” 

“Hypocrite,”

“Ugh, now we need to-“

“Go downstairs and hope he’s there and stopped being a sarcastic arse. Yes, I know,” Wales cut him off. 

They walked downstairs with a strange urgency, spotting Northern at the bottom of the stairs. 

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere,” Northern said as he fixed The UK’s tie. “They’re almost here, good thing they’re late, you know, here, Wales, put this in your hair,” he hurried, shoving a light green bow in her face. She grabbed it, and hurriedly fixed her hair up. “They were supposed to come 15 minutes ago, but complications with their horse slowed them down. Say, Normandy has that daughter, what was her name? France? Try to befriend her, might be helpful,” he paused his stream of words to look at the two. “Awe, my little Wales is all grown up!” 

“Shut up,” she grumbled, but Britain could see she stood a little bit taller. 

Northern Ireland lead them both to the place where England and Scotland were standing. “Where have you three been?” England scolded. 

“Enough of that, they’re here, -the bitches-“ Scotland shot back. 

“They’re here?” 

“They’re here!”


	3. III

“Have you met my son The UK?” Scotland asked the bored teen. The meeting had just started, yet they could already hear the familiar shouts of the other two- Normandy and England- bickering again over useless things. Despite her mood, France answered back; “No, I don’t believe I have.” 

The older country sighed and leaned her head back against the chair. France took a look at the queen and was surprised to see she had bags under her eyes. In fact, Scotland looked like a regular person, if you don’t count the dress. She had unruly red hair the was shoved into a messy bun. Freckles dotted her blue and white face, covered with natural makeup. 

“Alright, come with me, dear,” The other stepped up. “Ow! Sorry,” she added as she cracked her back.

“No, you’re fine!” The girl quickly muttered as she saw Monarchy come back from around the corner.   
They walked up into a room on the top floor of a tower. It was spacious and cool, with two couches, a rocking chair, and a simple seat. Someone was occupying the seat, so she took the rocking chair on the opposite side.   
“Hey,” the other muttered. They made small talk, but nothing too interesting. She sat back and started to drift off to her own thoughts. 

“I think we’re both bored.” The UK muttered. “Can I just talk to your ghost sister?”   
“What tHE-“ She jumped out of her chair. The sight was more than comical. “Yeah, actually, maybe she’ll stop bothering me,” she sat back.   
For some reason, Kingdom found that incredibly rude. He looked at her with an offended look, then turned to the ghost.   
“So... You’re dead.”   
“Yep.”   
“How’d you die?”   
The ghost jabbed her thumb toward the bored girl.“That idiot stabbed me.”   
They both turned to France.   
“What?” She asked in confusion. “Oh, yep. She was being mean and taxing the poor, so I killed her.   
“Which, may I add, is not how you solve your problems!” She glared at France.   
“I like you!” Britain remarked. “I’m the United Kingdom.”   
“I’m Monarchy.”   
“How do you do!”   
“Yes, how do you do.”   
They conversed for a while before he heard Scotland calling them. 

“Get your lazy asses down here before your dinner gets cold!” She yelled. 

They both ran down, Monarchy laughing and trailing behind as she saw them bump into each other. 

“Where’s Father?” Kingdom inquired when he didn’t see the red and white country. 

“Yeah, and where’s my mom?” France also asked, looking around for the other. 

Scotland beckoned them to take a seat where the children were already eating. They sat down as the other country replied. “Ah, they are still... negotiating.” 

“Arguing?” France muttered as she took a bite of some long bread. 

“Uhm, yeah, that too. Can you two introduce yourselves?” Scotland nodded to the younger two countries. 

“Wales, 12,” 

“I’m Northern Ireland, I’m 15, and you can call me Northern, everyone does.” 

“Ireland... have I heard that name before?” France wondered. 

“Uh, you might’ve, he’s my dad,” 

“Oh- That Ireland! I know him!” 

“Really?” Northern suddenly was invested in the conversation, most likely eager to know something about his father. “How?” 

“We were friends in... I think Junior High.” 

“Ooh, really?!? What was he like!?” The younger leaned over the table in interest. Scotland glared at him and he sat down really quickly. Wales grabbed his arm and started muttering to him. “Fy duw, mae mam mewn hwyliau drwg iawn heno, peidiwch â ffycin dicter hi.” || My God, mom’s in a really bad mood right now. Don’t fucking make her angry.|| 

“Tá a fhios agam, ach seo é m’athair a bhfuilimid ag caint air, gearr roinnt slack dom, ceart go leor?!?“|| I know, but this is my father we’re talking about! Can you cut me some slack?!? ||

“I can hear you two, knock it off.” Scotland muttered. 

“Nice family,” France remarked. 

“I know,” The United Kingdom agreed. 

“So-“ Scotland waved her fork around for emphasis. “-where you from?” 

France took another bite of bread before replying, “Well, my mom’s name is Normandy, I don’t know my dad, what do you think?” 

“I do not like this one,” England appeared at the door, quickly followed by Normandy. 

“That is my daughter you are talking about. Watch your tone, you’re going to have to get used to it.” The tall female pinched the bridge of her nose. They both took a seat, Normandy next to her daughter, and England at the far end of the table, where he usually sat. 

“Do you mind telling your daughter about what we agreed on?” England shot to Normandy. She ignored him, instead choosing to turn to France. 

“Dear, you remember the idea of a marriage for the country?” 

“‘My feelings don’t matter as long as I can keep the rest of the world happy,’” France replied boredly, like it was part of the national anthem. 

The look she made on her face was close to having a noose tightened around her dainty neck as realization creeped into her eyes. 

“You can’t be serious.” She whispered, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it was in. 

Just then, the UK realized it too. “You’re joking,” he muttered. 

“I’m not. We’ve both agreed this is the best way to secure our alliance together, seeing as we have years of fighting against us.” Normandy nodded in agreement as the Englishman pointed out a good point. 

“What’s happening, dad? What do you mean alliance?” Wales wondered out loud. 

“Ah, Wales, have I ever told you about forced marriges?” 

“No,” 

“They’re getting married.”


	4. IV

“BETH?!?” Wales shreaked. “United is getting married to this whore?!?” || WHAT?!? ||

“What is it with this family and calling women derogatory names?!” England groaned. Scotland nodded in agreement. “Yeah, what the fuck?” 

“You know what, I’m going to retire for the night.” France whispered, still in shock. An hour ago she didn’t even know this guy existed, and now she was going to be married? Anyone would be in shock, but she had just recently turned eighteen, she was barely an adult. And now she was married. Well, engaged. 

“Ah, yes. Up the stairs, turn left, up the stairs again, turn right, then the forth door on your left, dear. Oh, and, sorry about Wales’s attitude,” Scotland added as she walked past her. 

She ran up the stairs, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She refused to let them out though, because one, she wouldn’t be able to see, and two, she wouldn’t let this affect her so much. 

Finding her room, she peaked inside before pushing the door open and flopping on her bed. Fine, she was overreacting, but who wouldn’t? 

A knock on the open door interrupting her thoughts. “Entrez!” She yelled through her pillow. She felt a dip in the bed as someone sat on the unfamiliar sheets. 

A hand started petting her hair, trying to comfort the adult child. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s alright,” she heard her mother’s voice comfortingly tell her. 

“...mother...?” 

“That’s me, my dear,” 

She flipped herself over to stare at the wall. She saw her mother’s usually cold, hard face seem melted, just a tad. 

“Why?” She asked, throwing her hands up. 

“Why what, dear?” 

“I’ve just become an adult, maman. Why do soon?” 

“You know I love you, chère,” 

“You never show it,” 

“Do you love your country?” 

“...yes...” 

“...please... just go with it... you’re only getting married...” 

France looked up, trying to find the best in it. “Alright,” 

“Really?” 

“For you,” 

The United Kingdom was in his room as well, though he seemed to handling the news much better, as he was reading a book. Slowly realizing something, he rose from his seat and calmly walked to the room he saw his father last. 

Mother and Father were arguing about something stupid like they always were, when he interrupted the two. 

“Father,” 

“What?” He responded with a flat tone, probably tired and didn’t want to face an argument with his oldest son. 

“Spain-“

“What about her?”

Realization dawned on the older country’s face. “Shit.” 

“What have I said about cursing around the kids-“ 

“You do it too much you hypocrite!!” 

“Ha, you have the nerve to call me a hypocrite? Have you looked at yourself lately?” 

England ignored her jabbing insult and turned back at Jack. “Send ‘er a letter. Tell her about the alliance and hope she understands.” 

“Seriously? That’s your plan?” Scotland muttered.

“As if you have a better idea!” 

“Who says Iberia won’t like, attack us?” 

“I’m gonna go- write the letter. Yeah. You guys can keep- doing what you want.” UK volunteered.

•••

He sat at his letter writing desk, wondering what to put in the letter other than; 

Hello Spain, 

I’m getting married to someone else. 

Piss off. 

Yeah, something in him told him that it wouldn’t be a great idea to send her that.

Instead, he took a more friendly approach. 

Hello Spain, 

How are you? I’m doing great. Except for the fact I’m getting married. 

Not to you, unfortunately. 

To France.

Yeah. 

Best regards, 

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒩𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝐼𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 

Simple enough. One of his father’s advisors would fix it up and make it less readable and more flowy. 

He flopped on his bed and decided to call it a night. He was already tired from the days events, writing a letter was making it even worse. 

‘Goodnight’ he thought to himself. 

‘And Goodnight to my soon-to-be wife.’ 

This is rushed bc I have school, it’s late, and I have no motivation-


	5. V

_I panted as I ran through the never ending maze of my dreams. I had dreamed about it before, but I never thought I would see it in real life._

_A horse shaped animal lunged at me but fell short. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was trapped in the maze, doomed to keep running for eternity. I kept running, past the miles and miles of stone brick walls and past my past, present, and future._

_A cold sweat along with chills ran through my blue arm, though my right arm and frankly my whole body was feeling as if it was on fire._

_Wrapped up in these thoughts, my mind wandered and I could feel the nocebo effect kicking in on my left leg. I tried to stop thinking about it, because maybe then it would stop, but it didn’t. I thought so much about my leg that I didn’t notice the gaping hole standing right in front of me._

_People say that when you are falling from a cliff, your life flashes through your eyes. Incorrect. The only thing I was thinking about was ‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHH’ as I fell to my death. The bottom of the hole seemed so close, as I was begging gravity to ‘just get on with it,’_

_It was so close. Would it hurt? Was it like a big nap?_

_I clenched myself into a ball, hoping it would help the impact._

_3_

_2_

_1_

France woke up with a cold sweat, breathing heavily from all the running that she didn’t do. 

She tried calming herself down, which didn’t help at all in her current state of mind. 5:33, the wooden clock in her room read. But she couldn’t go back to sleep after that. 

Walking down the stairs to the sitting room, she thought she heard a creak but figured it must be a thing of her imagination. But when she heard it again, she went down to investigate the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from the exact place she wanted to go, the sitting room, so she bunched up her nightgown and swiftly made her way down. 

“Can’t sleep?” A chair said. Or a person sitting on the chair may have said it. 

“No.” The person in the chair spun around. Her betrothal was sitting in a spinning rocking chair, sipping on something that looked suspiciously like tea. 

“Bad dream then?” He questioned. 

She nodded her head and flicked in her skirt so she could sit on the loveseat, in which no love would be happening that night. They sat in silence for a moment before France piped up. 

“There was a maze.” She whispered. 

“I was running for some reason. Something might’ve been chasing me.” 

Kingdom suddenly looked intrigued. 

“I fell into a hole. I dreamed that I was about to die, but then I woke up.” She finished. It didn’t explain half the terror she felt but it was close enough. 

"That’s very similar to my dream.” He remarked. 

“Really?” France responded. Then yawned. 

“You should get some sleep.” 

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.” She replied. 

“Thanks for listening, UK,” she walked up the stairs. 

“France!” He called.

She looked at him.

“Call me Jack.” 

  
  
  


Jack watched the blue-white-and-and-red-headed girl make her way to the stairwell then disappear as if it was magic. 

As she walked away without a trace, he thought of the dream he had just about two hours ago. He tried to shift away from that thought. Nestled up in his father’s favorite chair and a cup of tea with his favorite book always seemed to calm him down. Not tonight. The uncanny resemblance between his and his soon to be wife was… strange, to say the least. Unsettling. 

Nevermind that. It was simply a coincidence, he kept assuring himself. But something about that wouldn’t leave him. 

He buried himself in a book he was reading, about a princess and a disguised prince. It was childish, sure, but it was part of his history, and he couldn’t just let it go. The funny thing was, it was in France’s own language, which he learnt enough as a child to read simple books like La Belle et la Bête. 

He fell asleep in the comfort of the sound of the fire cackling on his left side and his childhood story he used to read to himself.


	6. VI

The morning after was not as calm. In fact, not calm at all. 

Wales was shouting out profanities mixed in with actual speech about how he should ‘Get the word out or mum will kill you and eat you for dinner!’ 

Britain groaned. It seemed as though the day would be promising, the bright morning sun shining in through the dark mahogany covers on the windows. However, his day was less than perfect, as waking up like this promised a horrible day, according to the superstitions he made for himself when he was four. 

He grabbed a coat and stepped out into the sunny day, the sun blinding him. He stepped back into the family mansion -more like castle- as Wales and Northern Ireland continued to argue about stupid things. Seriously, did everyone in his family argue about such petty things? 

“Alright, that’s enough!” The taller country yelled. The other two stopped after a minute or two, disrespecting him yet following what the oldest said. 

“Wales took my coa-” Northern Ireland started. Great Britain cut him off with a glare that, if looks could kill, Northern would be six feet under. 

“What actually happened? And be quick, I have to write a letter.” He waved his hand at them in a signal to ‘start talking’

“Well, I was just sitting there, and Northern came up to me yelling that I took his coat!” 

“I did not! My coat was right there, and you took it! Who else could’ve taken it?” 

“Maybe the other people in this household?” 

“Shut up!” Jack yelled before the two could continue arguing. “Why don’t we just look for your coat?” 

The coat, as it turned out, was right where Northern left it. But he was looking in the wrong place, which may have been the cause of his confusion. 

Anyway, now that the author has stopped being boring, let’s see what France is doing. 

Nothing. Alright. 

The mentioned teenage girl was staring up at the trim on the rooms extravagant walls, contemplating if she should go downstairs or not. Already ten minutes ago she decided to get up, but she couldn’t bring herself to drag her ass out of bed. 

She mumbled something to herself like, “I’ll get up later.” 

To be fair, a sort of churning in her stomach was starting to get worse and worse causing her to stay in her bed and feel miserable all day long. She shrugged it off as just a stomach bug that might've been going around, but after several misery-filled minutes and a pounding headache, she geniusly confirmed that, no, it definitely was not just a stomach ache. She probably would’ve stayed there for a while if Jack hadn’t found her. 

He passed by France’s room on the way to his, before stopping to check on the girl and realizing his brothaled was terribly sick. 

“Are you alright?” The blue-haired girl looked over at the doorway, which stood the very person she hated and forced to love at the same time. 

“Yeah,” She rasped, hoping the other wouldn’t realize she was _literally dying._

“You’re not.” He decided for the spitfire girl, elegantly walking over to her side and taking the chair positioned a foot away from her. 

She frowned, and took a sip of water from a glass sitting on her nightstand. It cleared her throat for a moment, allowing her to freely speak. “What are you doing here?” Her throat tightened at the end. She grabbed her water and downed a little more. 

Jack looked up at the other. He told her the simple truth, or so she thought. “I was going to go write a letter.” 

France couldn’t resist an opening for an insult. “I'm surprised. I didn’t know you could write.” 

He looked surprised at the other’s open insulting, before painting a look of mock surprise on his face. “France! Proper ladies don’t openly insult like that!” 

She snorted. “I thought we already concluded I wasn’t a proper lady.” 

He laughed out loud at this comment. This caused the younger to laugh as well, even just for a moment. 

“So,” he flattened out his coat. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she lied through her teeth. The other noticed, and asked, “But how do you _feel?”_

“Honestly? My head feels like it’s about to explode and my stomach is… my stomach. Oh, here's the rasp again!” She exclaimed half heartedly, while the other brought over her water again. 

She brought it to her lips and just downed the entire thing. “Merci,” She mumbled after she had rid her lips of the excess. “Merci beaucoup.” 

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. Do you want me to get some more for you?” 

“That would be great, merci.” 

As France watched the back of her betrothaled turn away and walk down the steps, she made a silent oath in her mind. 

_I will learn more about you, United. Mark my words._


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple POV changes that you haven’t seen yet !!

France stayed sick for the better part of the week. The doctor concluded that she was bedridden with a sickness they called ‘abdominal migraine’, with no treatment. If you’ve buried your head in the sand, that means she dies. Or, she might have to wait it out a little bit. Anything works. 

During this 6-day period, Britain acted strangely as though he… cared. Not as much as you’d think for one’s engagement, but enough for a ‘more than strangers’ status. Maybe perhaps… friends. 

But not the level Normandy wanted. 

The female country paced around her lovely but cramped room, managing five paces before turning around, much too little to act on her thoughts. 

She needed a plan, and fast. One that would include getting the alliance well underway, getting the others to trust her, and following her husband's orders like he did, all the way to the end. She was succeeding in none of them. 

She had gotten used to daily life at the palace. Granted, the rooms definitely were not as gorgeous as her lavish ones back in Paris, but it was different here than back there, the hustle of here was strangely comforting, as back in Paris, the stone cold walls were occupied with only her and her daughter, and the servants waiting on call. 

Still, though, she made an oath to her dearest beloved (actually not, it was an arranged marriage,), and she didn’t plan on ever breaking it. 

It was early in the morning, and Normandy wasn’t planning on being underdressed when eating a morning meal. 

She considered her options that she had brought over. A simple light purple dress that hugged her figure at the top with a fitted bone corset, poofing out in the bottom and having mid-length sleeves with slight poofs at the end. The other option was a white dress with a hint of a pastel yellow hanging at the low neckline. It looked almost the same to the purple one, except this one seemed more sophisticated and therefore, not acceptable for a day of walking around. 

As she got dressed she thought about the thing that was plaguing her the most. Her daughter’s engagement. She didn’t know how to work out the loose ends with England, was more appropriate. The treaty they signed still had many catastrophic errors, that none of them was willing to fix. For example, Article Nine: 

Both Kingdoms shall reduce their armies by twelve (12) percent. 

Also, the entire treaty was in English, which was a horrible problem. She would have to jump on it later, but translating an entire _20 page treaty_ was not something she planned on doing in the near future. 

The poor woman was stressed, her thoughts going a mile a minute. Much like another person, in a whole entire kingdom. 

Germany. 

On top of his father being a drunkard who wasn’t fit to rule the Prussian Kingdom, (yes, I made Prussia the father. Deal with it.) diplomatic ties with Italy, Iberia, and Russia, he was trying to keep up with a war his father started years ago.

War was never his strong suit, though he had to deal with it for as long as he could remember. When he was younger, you would normally find his nose stuck in a book. Now, as a 20-year-old almost-leader of a country, he was mostly preoccupied with work, work, and more work. 

A letter from The United Kingdom had arrived in the letterbox. While reading it over, he spilled a tad bit of coffee on the letter, which wasn’t very important, but with him being a perfectionist, he read it as fast as possible before throwing it away. 

Dear Germany, 

How’s life? Good? Bad? I do hope it’s been good, I know how you’ve been stuck in the mud with Russia. 

My father has finally made an agreement with Normandy, though not in the way you’d expect. 

I’m getting married, Germany. 

Pray for me.

Please write back, I’d like to know how you are doing. 

Best wishes, 

_𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒩𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝐼𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹_

He threw away the letter after reading it over several times, all of them in shock. The youngest friend he had, at the mere age of nineteen, was engaged before Germany. Well, technically, he was promised to a nice little Belorussian girl when he was fourteen, but no matter. 

The other country immediately wrote back. 

Dear Jack, 

Married? To ~~Frankreich?~~ France? 

I’m. very sorry for you. 

The war still wages on the northern front, though it seems that the southern side is slowing down. 

I do hope that I shall be able to visit you before the end of the season, though I have a small feeling your mother does think I am a bad influence. What a shame. 

My father has not gotten better lately, though his condition has settled into a flat, which is better than nothing, I suppose. 

Nothing of interest has happened so far, though when counting crows I do imagine something is going to happen. I am not aware of what. 

Kindest Regards, 

𝕲𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞

Jack laughed at his friend's subtle jokes hidden behind walls of guarded secretary. He didn’t mind all the cloak and dagger, that was just Germany being Germany. 

It was refreshing to finally hear something from someone through letter. He could imagine Germany’s voice telling him about his father and the war, like they were still kids sitting under a tree again.

It was nice. 

“Jack! Mom wants you!” 

He folded the letter back up. This was going to be a very long day. 


	8. VIII

_The clicks of heels much too high to be comfortable ran through the hallways of the palace._

_Seriously, France thought. Just wear comfortable shoes!_

_She then realized that they probably didn’t have the luxury of having flat shoes. Or maybe it was for fashion. Who knows?_

_She turned back to go to the room she’d just come out of before realizing that it wasn’t there anymore, and in its place, a stone wall._

_Shit. She thought as she realized she was living in yet another dream. I bet Jack doesn’t have to deal with these._

_Jack did in fact, have to deal with dreams (or nightmares), but we’ll get back to that later._

_She looked to her side and saw none other than a stone wall. To her right was yet another wall, it seemed as though she could only go straight._

_So that's what she did._

_She walked straight across the hallway before noticing a door and a key on a table. knowing what she knew by common sense, this definitely wasn't right to do._

_She inserted the key into the door and turned it..._

...and she woke up. 

She felt a weird sensation in her, almost curiosity. Though that couldn't be right. She'd never felt that before, it couldn't be triggered by just a dream. She thought. 

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms and looked over. The slumped form of the UK, holding a letter, and quietly snoring was sitting in her one chair. He looked uncomfortable sitting and slumping in the non-padded chair, but France couldn't really do anything.

The soft sound of her feet hitting the floor filled the room with barely a sound. It was silent, and judging by the amount of sunlight, it was around dawn. possibly a little later, and it made sense that no one was up. 

Her nightgown slid on the floor as she walked over to the closet. Skimming the closet, she found nothing and since the day was young and light plenty, she found the urge to read another children's book, though she had to fight it, because that would be... well, childish. She laughed at the thought, which was obviously loud enough to wake the other in the room, who looked up drowsily before continuing to snore quietly. 

She gently walked over to her shelf of books she filled a bit ago, she pulled out a book she read a whole while ago, remembering a snippet of a book she saw Jack reading a little bit ago. 

A rustling sound disturbed her from her book for a moment as Jack raised his head like a zombie and stared at her, half asleep. He stared at her for two minutes before finally coming to his senses and popping up right over her shoulder. 

"I love that book," He yawned tiredly. 

"Go back to sleep," 

"Okay," 

He stumbled back to his chair and his eyes scanned the crumpled letter. This seemed to wake him up. 

He rubbed his eyes and stared at her figure, her back turned to him. She seemed to be reading a book, though he couldn't remember what it was, and he blamed his poor memory.

“Whatcha reading?” 

“Nothing,” she replied. 

“Nonsense. If you were reading nothing, there would be no book in your hands.” 

“That’s a double negative.”

“Yes, I know. The double negative makes a positive, yes?”

“Sure.”

“So the positive sentence would be, ‘if you were reading something, there would be a book in your hands.”

“Sure.” 

“Can you say anything other than ‘sure’?”

“Sure.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Sure.” 

Jack huffed and walked away from the insufferable girl, noticing how she was acting like Wales when she was five and wondered how one person could hold so much immaturity. 

“Wait, are you implying that I don’t hate you?” He turned around and saw her snicker, then replied, “Sure.”

“Fuck you!”

“Sure,”

He groaned and turned away from France, which in return sat next to him on the floor and stuck her tongue out. 

“You immature bi-”

“You’re one to talk.” His curse was cut off by the immature Frenchwoman. He feigned hurt and hid a smile from France. 

She got off the floor and flopped on the bed, her nightgown being weird and flipping over, before turning back, revealing a tomato-faced France. 

“What’s wrong? You’re so red, I can’t even see the blue on your face!” He laughed at his own joke but saw her face of obvious discomfort. 

“Are you alright?”

“Uh- Yeah! Fine!” She replied with strained cheeriness. 

The UK continued to be concerned before a certain voice decided to come and scare him straight. 

“BOO!” She yelled. Jack didn’t say anything and France started laughing at the shocked face of the person who was supposed to be older than her. 

Jack glared at the ghost as she snickered and looked at his expression. 

"Oh, man... France... is this who you're engaged with?" Monarchy laughed, as France came to the realization that the author completely forgot about her ghost sister- erm, I mean... that she came to the realization that she hadn't seen her sister in a while. 

"Where have you been?" France demanded, coming right up to the ghost and pointing her finger at her like a disappointed mother. 

"Love you too!" Monarchy giggled and hugged her sister, who she passed right through as France let out a shudder. "Do you not love me?" She frowned as she saw France shudder. Meanwhile, Jack was staring at the two sisters, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. 

"Don't stare!" France whisper-screamed. "It's rude!" 

A tired-looking Wales came to the door, rubbing her eyes and staring at the three. "Shut up..." she moaned and flopped on France's bed. Jack instinctively jumped back as the mattress flopped up. "You guys are too loud..." She groaned, louder than the two of them combined throughout the morning. The United Kingdom repeated this fact to Wales, in which she let out a raspy laugh and told them that she had good hearing. 

The girl immediately fell back asleep, not used to waking up so early in the morning. Actually, Wales was not used to waking up at all. (A/N- oh wait—) 

The two (three!) silently laughed at the girls antics, before The United Kingdom heard France’s stomach growl at the absence of breakfast. 

“You hungry?” 

“A little,” she admitted. “But Wales-“ 

“Is twelve. She’s fine. She knows that she shouldn’t burn the house down.” He cut the Frenchwoman off. 

“Fine.” 

And with that, the race to find breakfast began. 

**AHHH—**

**I’m sorry for being gone so long**

**school and shit lmao**

**have an extra long chapter as an apology**

**and it definitely isn’t just because I couldn’t end this thing**


	9. IX

"Lovely day,"

"Mhm," 

England stared at the beautifully written letter. Yet the message was less than. 

A letter to a guest in their house. To Normandy, signed by a Vichy. Which, obviously wasn't something they wanted, considering the contents of the message. Long, yes. full of unnecessary information, yes. But disturbing? Also yes. Very disturbing.

A slightly unsettled Scotland tried to steer her husband away with the beautiful way with words she had the gift of, thinking it was just a simple declaration of war. Obviously, it wasn't, because the words that would normally soothe him were just making him more agitated. 

"What does it say?" 

The disturbed king showed Scotland the letter, which she read over and over until it was committed to memory. Well, she would've, if a young woman hadn't come barreling down the stairs, followed by Scotland's son actually coming down the stairs safely. 

"Hi Mrs. Scotland!" France yelled, most likely waking up the entire household. 

"Be quiet!" Jack hissed. "People are sleeping!" 

"Not my problem!" 

France sat down at the table and looked at the two parents, who were currently staring at her with a look of distrust. "Why the cold face?" She asked, but then dropped the subject, much to Scotland's delight. 

As the young woman ate some breakfast happily, Scotland wondered how this young woman could be hatching a plot to kill her and her whole family. Then she realized that the letter was addressed to a Normandy, not France, and perhaps the young lady didn't even know about this. _Guilty until proven innocent,_ Scotland supposed. 

Until Normandy came down the stairs, Scotland kept the same coolness that she possessed in situations like this. 

But when Normandy showed her face near the two, all hell broke loose. 

Well, it was so icy that you could perhaps say all English weather broke loose. 

Firstly, Normandy came down with all the iceiness she usually had, but what was different was that Scotland also had an air of ice around her. Not noticeable enough for cheerful France or Jack to notice, but enough. Enough to make England and Scotland come to a silent agreement. 

_We will not tell Normandy about this letter._

Meanwhile, on the other side of France, a man named Vichy was constantly pacing around his desk, waiting for a response from the woman he 'loved'. 

No such letter ever came. 

_Damn you!_ He thought. _Damn you for getting your daughter married off to some prince in the kingdom that we so desperately hate!_

This wouldn't work. He knew that, after repeating these thoughts to himself for going on a week now. 

_But what about France?_

This caught him off guard. Anyone who was anyone knew he only cared about success, not the pitiful excuse of a daughter that he had. 

A door opened. "Uh, sir, do you want your tea?"

Vichy stared at the servant. She appeared to be new, for Vichy had not seen her before. She was anxiously rubbing her feet together, and he avoided the need to tell her to stand up straight. Instead, he waved the tea in and noticed the look of relief on her face as if she did nothing wrong. 

Just to have a little bit of fun, he stopped her as she was coming out the door. "What is your name?" He asked with a disapproving look on his face as if he was going to ask Paris to write her up. 

"Avignon, sir!" She squeaked. 

"Thank you, you may go now." 

After taking a small sip of the beverage, he looked outside just to spot several crows. 

_Good grief._ Vichy thought. _As if my day couldn't get any worse._

It could get worse, he realized as he saw a letter addressed to... well, him on the corner of his table. He supposed that the little girl from earlier had delivered it, but he checked all the parts it, just in case. It looked pretty safe. 

He opened it. 

_Vichy,_

_As you can see, I did not get your letter, however, I received the other one you sent me, and I must say, that is truly disturbing, the fact that someone would do something that atrocious, though I do admit I do not care, for I have never lived in that palace._

_Both England and Scotland have been avoiding me for the better part of the day, and it leads me to believe a servant had handed your letter to them and they read it, those (excuse me) pigs._

_I do see the good in your plan, though I must suggest a few things I have observed._

_They both are very attached to Wales and Northern Ireland, to take them away would crush their souls._

_From the outside, the city looks impenetrable, but there are many ways to get in from in the back._

_These are some of my tips, best of luck and many the odds ever be in your favor._

**_Normandy_ **


	10. X

"I'm going to the town, father." Jack said, after a few minutes of tension so thick you could cut it a knife. "France, come with me." 

France, who seemed very invented in the tension that was currently going on with their parents, started protesting but Jack shut her up with a glare. "Uhm, yeah! I'll come with you!" On their way out, Normandy tugged at France's sleeve and whispered something only those two could hear. She looked shocked for a moment before shaking it off. 

After they reached a corridor seemingly out of earshot, Jack tugged at the other's sleeve. "What was that about?" He hissed. 

"What?" 

"My mum hating yours?"

"Oh, so now it's _my_ fault?" 

"I'm not saying that-- let's just go." He continued to lead her through corridors until they reached a back entrance that led into a town. He softened his glare at France after seeing her disinterested expression. 

"I'm bored," She immediately complained after he noticed exactly the same. 

He chuckled. "Well, just hang on for a minute," He murmured, though it sounded a lot louder than intended in the silent corridor. And it was true. In less than a minute, they had reached the back entrance. 

The UK'S eyes weren't on the city; they were fixated on the girl to see her reaction. And what a reaction it was. It was like she had never seen a city- nay, never seen a _town_ before. She stood with her feet planted on the floor, just taking in all of the things her five senses could take in and more. He tried tugging on her sleeves but she was planted flat, so he waved his hands in front of her face. "Hello? France? Wake up!" 

France yelped before realizing it was just Jack. "Wow..." she breathed. 

"Pretty amazing, huh?" the other commented, before leading her further into the city. France marveled in wonder while Jack kept chuckling every time he saw her face. 

"It's like you've never seen a city before," he remarked. She turned to him with a serious expression on his face. "That's because I haven't." When he found himself with a puzzled expression on his face, she clarified; "Mother has never let me gone in a city before. I've seen plenty, but I've never been in one."

"Not even a town?"

"Not even a town." She confirmed. 

"Damn," He swore. "What are we waiting for then?" Jack tugged at her sleeves. **(Damn this lady has a lot of _sleeve)_**

"Stop itttt!" France dragged the word out. "You're gonna make my sleeves go all wonky! See, look at them, they're already coming apart!" She moaned. He pretended to examine her sleeves with mock concern. "I don't see anything," he commented, but the other had already moved on. 

They walked around the various buildings before stumbling across a market. Jack continued protesting against going into it, but France seemed determined to go into it. So go in it they did. However, Jack was looking around nervously, knowing with a gut feeling that this was a bad place, and if France had never been in a city, this wasn't the place for her. 

France and Jack walked around the stalls for a bit, and when France wanted to buy something, he pointed out that they didn’t have money and Jack literally brought them out here on a whim. 

They had just reached the end of the stalls with no causalities from France when a man appeared right behind them. Jack knew to not turn around but France, having literally never been in a city, turned around. 

“Who are you?” She asked. The man seemed older, maybe 40 or 50 years of age.   
"What's a pretty little dame like you doing running around the market?" He asked in a rough, gravelly voice. Jack instinctively shrunk, but caught himself and stood up straight. This was his fiancée after all, and he couldn't hide behind her. 

"I have no idea, actually. It's my first time here and I've seemed to come across a street rat," She retorted with a disgusted look. Jack shot her a look that told her that was a bad idea. At least, he hoped it came across like that. 

The man growled. Then, quicker than you would expect from a drunken man, grabbed her by the collar. **(haha not the sleeve this time)** France gasped and the other scrambled to get her down. 

After she had gotten safely on the ground and to a safer place in town, they stopped near an ally and the UK waited for France to catch her breath. She seemed so shaken up that Jack didn't even think to tell her 'I told you so!' 

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," she panted. "Just startled, that's all."

She got to her feet after a minute or two and they both made their way out and back to the castle. It was quiet. Too quiet. France and United both checked different rooms for people before both stumbling into Northern's room. Inside, England, Scotland and Wales were crowding around his bed, with Normandy hanging on the outside, reading a letter. Jack pushed his way to the bed and saw Northern Ireland, deathly ill.

**Hi! Don't be mad at me :)**

**Want to tell me your two cents on this book? Take this thing >>>>> [Bigger Army Diplomacy Poll](https://www.quotev.com/quiz/13129224/Bigger-Army-Diplomacy-Poll%C2%A0)**

**-jazzy**


	11. XI

**Small mentions of gore**

"Why are you so damn hard to break?!" Paris yelled, smacking the man over across the face again. He groaned for it opened up another bruise the ruthless servant had given him. 

Paris stormed off again, probably to go tell Vichy about the man's persistence and also horrible state. 

Who was the man?

Ireland, of course.

"He's still alive?!" Paris winced at Vichy's loud -and frankly scary- tone. "I told you to kill him if he didn't agree!" 

Paris winced again. Even though she was known as the most ruthless of Vichy's servants -sometimes even considered more ruthless than the head honcho himself- still had to bow down to the king. 

"Let me see the fucker for myself." He groaned and stomped down the stairs to see Ireland for himself. 

Ireland winced. He could hear the stomps of the exact man he dreaded since day one of this nonsense. They were loud, but regal like he was a king. Well, he was a king, but that's beside the point. 

See, it was a while back it happened. in fact, two years ago on this day. He supposed Vichy must've thought, "Hey, I'm gonna steal England's brother whom he dearly loves and also hates to get all his secrets! Because that'll totally work!" Spoiler alert, it didn't. 

"You scum of the earth!" He yelled. "You filth!" 

He pointed his finger at Ireland, who winced at the sight of it. 

_What happened?_ He had to ask himself. _I used to be Ireland. A person. Not this shell of a man._

"What will it take to break you?!" He yelled again. Vichy took out a knife from his back pocket and nicked the side of his face. Ireland felt warm blood trickle down the green side of his face. 

"What do you want?" Ireland finally whispered. 

"That depends." Vichy mused. "What do you want?" 

Ireland noticed that the man was calmer now, something that normally seemed to happen. After all, he'd been here two years. Ireland knew Vichy like his backhand. 

"I want to see my son again." That was it. That was all that he wanted to do. 

Vichy tsked. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Any other requests?"

Ireland stood up, his eyes blazing. "You can do that." He pointed a finger at the man, some of his old courage back. "Coward." He hissed as Vichy took a tentative step back. "You have to hide behind your servants. Pathetic." 

"I am not _pathetic."_ Vichy hissed. A step forward was all Vichy took before Ireland spoke again. 

"Prove it. Let me see my son. Talk to him. For a little while. Please." Ireland's tone turned pleading at the end of his risky statement.

"You have one week," Vichy growled. "And don't try anything. I do have spies in that pretty palace of yours." This statement, surprisingly, wasn't shocking to Ireland. Having been in the man'spalace for... well, _two years,_ he, again, knew the man like the woods he'd play in as a child. Which is to say, very well. 

The man walked up the stairs like he did all the time, the only difference being that he didn't close the door. And that was that. 

Ireland was free. 

The first problem, transportation. Not actually a problem, because Vichy took care of that indiscreetly, by having Paris there to shove a map in his face and tell him how to get a boat to travel up the Rhone and other rivers. Ireland did that, traveling upriver in no time (like three weeks) before finally reaching the Thames. From there it was a straight shot to London. To his brother. 

_To his son._

**What, you thought this story was just going to be sunshine and rainbows? Hell no!**

**:)**


	12. XII

_To see his father._

That was all Northern Ireland wanted. But of course, he used up his monthly quota of miracles after he miraculously pulled himself out of the sickness that he was sure would rob him of his sanity. Still, he couldn't help wishing every time the clock struck 11:11, or when a black cat passed by him on his way to the market. 

A merchant ship was coming up the River Thames, nothing of interest to Northern. He used to be excited at every ship coming in and out of the ports of his city, but after two and a half months of getting his hopes crushed over and over again, he figured that it was useless, and stopped caring. 

But this time, it was different. The ship that had arrived looked to be of Irish origin, and there appeared to be only one person on the ship, a young girl with a frightened look on her face.

_Strange,_ thought Northern Ireland. Yet the only thing he wanted to do was go home. So that was what he did. 

He couldn't help but look back at the ship. There stood a man, his hat obscuring his face. But when he moved his hands, one of them was green and the other orange. And Northern Ireland couldn't help but wonder if that was... if that was his father. 

"That's not how you play!" France yelled at the poor UK. He stared at the chessboard, then at France. Her expression was equal parts amused and enraged, though he couldn't figure out how that worked out. 

"But I thought the rook moves straight-" he protested.

"That's the castle you fool!"

"How do you know so much about chess?"

"Books!" She pulled on her face as Jack continued to argue with the girl. 

"How do you know books are correct?"

"Three source rule!"

Jack stared at her, game forgotten. "What's the three source rule?" 

France noticed the game was over and started putting the pieces away. "Everyone knows the three source rule!" There went the rook Jack thought was a castle. "Except for you." She noted. 

"Except for me. So what is it?"

France flopped on the couch and thought for a minute before answering; "When three or more books agree about something, it's probably true."

"And how many books have agreed?"

"All of the ones I've read."

"And how many books is that?" 

"Several." 

"How many is that?"

"Several." 

Jack joined her on the couch. "This is the most immature you've been since that last time I told you you were immature!" 

"Three weeks ago?" Jack confirmed that with a head nod. France laughed. "You remember me being immature from three weeks ago?" 

Jack felt his face warm ever so slightly and told her that he had a good memory. An awkward silence followed, with France breaking it with a small chuckle. The girl laid down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. The other also followed suite just a few minutes after. 

_I woke up, Jack by my side, still sleeping. I yawned and stretched out my arms and legs, and reweaving my hair back into a bun to keep it out of the way. I stared a little at the sleeping form next to me. I stroked his hair for a second, trying to pull away, however, it was like I was a marionette. I couldn't stop._

_His eyes snapped open, something I wasn't used to. From what I normally could tell, he would slowly open his eyes, and once they were fully open, he blinked like he wasn't used to light and then took a little bit of time to wake up. This was the complete opposite._

_Jack quickly snapped out onto the floor, his red eyes slightly more intense than normal. Another strange thing. His eyes never flared that bright._

_"I know who are." He croaked. "I know what you want."_

_"What?" I inquired. My hands immediately went to stroke my hair out of my face. "What do I want?"_

_His hands went straight to his belt, presumably to grab something, though I didn't know what. Suddenly, he pulled out a thin, sharp blade, with a small golden-brown handle with the initials 'ESL' carved on the left side._

_"What are you gonna do you that?" I backed away out of habit, I've seen what things like that can do to a person, and I didn't want to be the stab-ee._

_"I know what you want, France." And with that, I died._

**_If you’re wondering why chapters are getting so shitty, it’s because I have no time to write these over the week and I cram at least seven hundred words into one Saturday night. That might not sound bad but I can get distracted easily, so it might take on hour to write two sentences or thirty minutes to write several._ **

_**-Jazzy** _


	13. XIII

Jack woke up, startled. A scream. From France. 

"Shh, shh, you're okay, shh." He held her the way his mother used to hold him when he would get nightmares. Hand on the back, with the other holding her tightly. He moved his hand up to her head and tried mixing circles and pats on her head, and this seemed to help her a lot more than back pats. 

"You were there..." France let out a small sob. She searched his eyes for some sort of confirmation. "Shh, shh, I'm here. It was just a dream." 

"You tried to kill me!" 

"I did? News to me." 

France punched him in the ribs, though her face was contorted in amusement. "Not funny!" 

"Really? 'Cause I thought it was hilarious. By the way, wanna see my knife?" Jack asked the last part in a tone that he had heard a street vendor use once. France surprised him by playing along, replying with a question in a subtle English accent, much like the one he had. "No, but do you want to see my... tea?" 

"It's raining." Scotland stared out at the English countryside and wondered for the tenth time that day, why hadn't she just stayed in her hometown? At least it wasn't raining every single morning and night. 

"It is." England put down his paper. "Look, if you want to go home, you can just tell me. You've said it's raining ten times today and it's only ten in the morning!" 

"I have?" She murmured. "I have, haven't I? Wait does this mean I can visit home?" 

"Yes, of course! What else would it mean?" 

"Thanks," Ireland muttered as the servant handed him his suitcase. 

"Mhm. Use this paper to get you into the palace. And be careful, Mr. Vichy does have spies in that place." The girl, who Ireland had figured out her name, Avignon, whispered. He nodded in response. 

Ireland looked up to the town as Avignon watched him like a hawk. She didn't mean to, but after months under Vichy's watchful gaze, she had learned that people can be very unpredictable. 

She wanted to speak, to tell the man that spies wasn't meant to be plural. And the one that was there wasn't going to be there for much longer. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. If even one person heard about this, they could report back to Vichy and she would be hung for treason. Which would be bad. 

After the taller man had walked away, Avignon took this chance to start walking around the town, scouting out like Vichy said to do. Gosh, Vichy said to do a whole lot of things. She should have written it down. 

As soon as she had turned the corner, she smashed right into a man. 

"Oh gosh! I'm sorry!" She exclaimed. The papers the man was holding spilled on to the floor. "Oh gosh! Sorry!" Avignon bent down to pick up some of the papers that the man dropped. "Are you alright?" 

"Do you think I could be hurt by a little pipsqueak like you? I think the real question is did _you_ get hurt? Could you put that in this folder?" 

Avignon placed the yellowed paper into the folder he was gesturing to. "Sorry!" She squeaked again. 

They both stood up after all the papers had been placed in all their respective folders, the man rising to his full height, which was definitely taller than Avignon, but not as tall as the other people she had met. He seemed to be in his late teens, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He held his chin up high and looked as though he was of higher social status than Avignon, though that was probably inevitable. 

"Are you new in town?" He asked. 

"No, just visiting."

"That's alright," he laughed. "I'm sure this country will welcome you with its bad weather. And pickpocketing," he added as he pulled out a list from her pocket. 

"Hey! Give that back!" _So I did make a list._ She realized in relief. At least she wouldn't have to remember all the things Vichy told her. 

The list made it's way back into her hands, though the man dropped it well above her head, it fell gracefully. "I don't believe I caught your name." 

Avignon, still in a bit of a fit after the supposed pickpocket, retorted back, "Didn't throw it." When he looked at her expectingly, she replied, "Avignon, and you?"

"Um, good question," he hesitated before answering, "Call me North."

"Isn't North a direction?"

"Isn't Avignon a city?" The man looked at his watch and suddenly speed-walked off, calling behind him, "Nice to meet you Avignon!" 

**Qotw: would you humans like a little bit of first-person sprinkled in, or are you good with third-person?**


	14. XIV

"You're back." 

Ireland raised his eyes at his brother, who was currently standing before him, just a few inches taller. 

"I am," he confirmed. 

A corner of England's mouth quirked up slightly, yet he still held his solemn expression. "You're back?"

"Yep. Have you not heard?" Ireland sarcastically commented. 

"No, I haven't," England frowned. "Was I supposed to?" 

"I don't know, were you?" England almost broke out in a laugh but regained his composer and asked where the oldest of the family was. 

Ireland looked around nervously and then uneasily at his brother. He started to wonder who was the spy Vichy had told him about.

"Around."

"For a year?"

"Two years, actually," He muttered. Then a sudden pang of homesickness hit him and he couldn't help but ask where his son was. 

"He's up- he's _around_ " England passive-aggressively looked at his hands. "NORTHERN!" 

"Dad!" Wales' lithe footfall sounded through the hollow stairs. "Northern got sick again!"

"I did not get sick!" Northern sneezed. "I merely fell ill!" 

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Ill sounds more sophisticated," Both Ireland and his son said at the same time. The former chuckled, while the latter bounced down the stairs and finally showed his face. 

"Dad?" His voice caught in his throat. 

"Hi," Ireland replied. 

A cough sounded through the room. Wales looked up near the doorway where the sound had come from, and her oldest brother stood there. 

"Dad? Oh hey, uncle Ireland," The United Kingdom mentioned half-handedly, then did a double-take. "Uncle Ireland?" 

"Hi," Ireland did a sort of half-wave at Wales' oldest brother. "I'm back...!" 

"Uh, yeah, I uh, I can see that!" The UK looked at him again. "But how? Like you've been gone for what, a year?" 

"Two," Wales could hear Ireland mutter under his breath. "You can stop acting like Vichy now." 

"Who's Vichy?"

"Uh- someone of no consequence?" 

The UK eyed him warily. "Are you sure? Because you hesitated." 

Just then, someone called for him. "Jack! There's a letter for you in the mail! I mean, it's addressed to you!" He took another quick look at Ireland in disbelief before hurrying off to where the voice came from. 

You know, Wales had never liked France from the minute she stepped foot on her country. A looming suspicion always followed her to no ends whenever that girl was around, and she couldn't believe how fast Jack was to trust her. It just wasn't right. Of course, she wasn't the one getting married to some random dude, so maybe France had her reasons for acting like a suspicious asshole. If she ever tried to tell her suspicious for France, no one would believe her, for she was only a wee little child, not to be 13 yet. But who knows? 

"When'd you get back?" Wales asked half-heartedly. She was never that close to Uncle Ireland, and when he randomly disappeared two years ago, the only thing it did was separate her and her uncle farther than it already had. 

"Mh, just now." He replied. "You've grown," 

"Yeah, I did, 'cause that's what people do. They grow," Northern Ireland sneezed at her response. Or he could've just sneezed because he was ~~sick~~ _ill,_ while her uncle just laughed. 

"Still as spiteful as ever, I see," 

"Wales will be Wales."

"I'm right here!" She bit, glaring at her father. Ireland seemed taken aback for a split second but shook it off before anyone else noticed. Wales was always pretty observant, despite her abrasive personality. 

"I'm going to my room," She said. 

Wales passed the room that France was staying in, and after a second she heard a chuckle. Nothing of interest. She passed Mrs. Normandy's room and heard nothing except a page flip from a book. Also nothing of interest. 

She made her way into her room and just thought. She paced around before staggering into her bed. And thought. Something was up with France. That she knew. But why? Was it that France was just a new person? Probably not. When Germany finally showed his face, she hadn't felt this way. No, it must be trickery of some sort. But what?

But _why?_


	15. XV

_We were dancing. That's the first thing I knew. But with who? I'm still not sure._

_Another thing I noticed was my hands. They were cut up, and they looked like they were scratched with thorns or something of that variation, but they didn't have any blood on or near them, which I felt was strange._

_Thirdly, I felt as though I was considerably taller than normal. Either that or the man in front of me was very short. Either or, though being taller than someone was comforting. So I assumed that._

_And lastly, I noticed that I and the very random person in front of me were surrounded by fog. Which was also strange. But whatever. Nothing of matter._

_I recognized the song we were dancing to, it was a song that Vichy liked to listen to. Dvořák, I suppose? Though I couldn't distinguish the song, it was familiar._

_"Who are you?" I asked, which I thought was pretty reasonable, considering how the fog was covering his face and most importantly, his eyes._

_"I am someone you know, yet you're too blind to see," and with a spin, everything turned black._

Avignon awoke in a cold sweat, clutching the blankets that confined her to her bed. She threw them off of her small frame, now feeling extremely hot, but then threw them back on as a sudden spot of cold hit her again. This went on for about three minutes before she calmed down and chilled out. 

She was staying in an inn near the outskirts of the city, and while it wasn't the best part of town, it was still a decent place and had pretty good prices. Which she thought was a good thing. And they spoke French, which was a bonus, she supposed. At least communication wasn't much of a problem for her. 

The room she was in was small, according to the landlord who rented the room to her. 

_"A small thing, that room,"_ he said while giving her the key. _"A minor mishap with the building. I think it'll fit a little pipsqueak like you."_ And then she went to go unpack her bag. 

She didn't have much, just a spare change of dress, a slightly better change of dress, two books, and some toiletries. Simple, easy, just like her. 

She put on a loose gown that frayed at the edges. It was a simple vanilla white, though over the months it had turned slightly yellow, it was still better than anything she had. 

Avignon was told to wait for Vichy's spy to find her, then take her home, though she was beginning to lose faith in the man's will to bring the young girl home, for she was nothing but a simple servant, barely of age, and defiantly not worth his time. She wasn't anything special, like Paris, who with her tough as nails personality could frighten anyone back into their place, nor was she Versailles, who was said to have a very special relationship with the king. No, she was just Avignon. And Avignon was insignificant. 

She set off to town with this in her mind. She planned to get some food with the meager amount of money that she had- work, she needed to find that, maybe as a shop cleaner or something of that source, because heaven knows that the amount that she had was less than satisfactory. **(if you wanted exact measurements, I'm sorry, I don't speak French money or English money)**

She saw a shop selling food at a cheap price, but there wasn't anyone in the shop, so she figured that it wasn't the safest place to buy stuff from. Yet, she was desperate, so she walked in. 

Inside, it was warm from a small candle in the corner. That happened to also be the only light source, so there was light from the outside and the candle was all that emitted light, so the back of the store was particularly dark. The dark concealed two figures. One was a short, stout man with a potbelly and an apron, a luxury. And the other, a thin, tall woman wearing a nicer dress, probably from the nobility. 

"Hello!" The shopkeeper said excitedly. "How do you do?"

"I'm well, thank you, and yourself?" Avignon blushed, for she had forgotten how the phrase 'how do you do' worked. 

"Just jolly, thank you very much! Now, I suppose that you want to buy some food? How much do you 'ave?" He replied, getting down to business, like Avignon supposed was the best way to go. 

She placed the money on the counter, which wasn't the healthiest thing to do, but she was _not_ counting today. That was just a fact of life. 

"Erm," the shopkeeper quickly counted for her. "That'll get you maybe two, three loaves of bread?" 

"May I just take one?" She asked. _Have to save money_. 

"That's alright!" The shopkeeper laughed as though one piece of bread was an inside joke that he was hoping the other would get. Avignon laughed out of confusion, hoping it would quell the man's hearty laughter. 

"Avignon?" The tall woman finally spoke up, her heels clicking on the hard stone floor. "Avignon, is that you?" 

Avignon turned around in surprise. She wasn't used to many people knowing her name, but she felt as though she knew this woman. 

"It is you, Avignon! Now if you'll excuse us, we really must be going!" She said in a hurry, placing a few notes on the counter. "Thank you, sir, and goodbye!"


	16. XVI

"Where have you been? I got his letter a week ago!" 

Normandy dragged what appeared to be her husband's servant that he mentioned in his letter into an alley. She was frightened, sure, but Normandy had gotten his letter a week ago, so that could mean that the servant was wandering around the whole town, being the opposite of cautious, which was not what Normandy nor Vichy wanted. 

"I was tryin-" Normandy cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Hush. We don't want to be seen, especially now that you've probably blown our cover!" 

The young lady gulped, which Normandy almost had a problem with, but she figured that it was illogical of her to berate the girl. Normandy took a deep breath. "Vous êtes Avignon, non?" 

Avignon nodded. 

"Good." 

"What do you mean, 'it's my fault'? What- How could I even get him sick?" 

Jack was starting to get suspicious of his fiancee. This really was- well, Northern had rarely gotten sick before she and her mother came. Then, all of the sudden, she came and the person with the strongest immune system in the family suddenly had the weakest. 

"Think about it!" He then repeated what his mind kept saying to him. France just shook her head in what looked like disbelief. Or amusement. Though, in his shaken state of mind, he figured the latter was more plausible. "Still, how could I have gotten him sick?" 

"Food poisoning-"

"Those aren't the symptoms of food poisoning!" She threw her hands up. 

"How do you know so much about food poisoning?!" 

Everything went silent. Jack's uneven breaths were the only sound that filled the room. All too late, he realized his mistake. 

"Yeah," she huskily said. "How do I know so much about food poisoning?" 

It's not always the best feeling in the world when someone brings up the death of your best friend. I thought about going back to my room, and I did. 

While I was walking there I remembered the conversation that I and Jack had earlier, before this whole mess. 

**_One Week Earlier (Correct me if I'm wrong, but is this the first time I've used a flashback? Impressive.)_**

_"You know, any of this could kill us," France stated indifferently, taking a bite of her food._

_"That was uncalled for." When France didn't say anything, he continued. "What do you mean?"_

_"I was eating something with a friend, back in 1795. We'll call him... Pole," France decided to use her friend's favorite pseudonym, in honor of him. And also, being friends with the mentioned person wasn't the greatest asset, especially with a person like Jack. Though she could tell that Jack knew who she was referring to._

_"I think we were drinking something. Tea perhaps?" France laughed in reminiscence. "That sounds like something Poli- Pole would do. Though I think he probably had a few shots of vodka."_

_"Someone put iocane powder in his drink," France's tone slowly became more somber. "I never saw him again."_

Yeah, great. Sometimes, I just hate the man. Actually, all the time I hate the man. But he's tolerable most of the time, I suppose. 

I decided I needed to get out of this suffocating place. Away from anything, away from him. I just needed to be free. 

France quickly put on some boots and a traveling cape, however, she didn't plan on traveling. No, she just needed to get out into the countryside, like how she used to be back when she was younger. Those days seemed like a million years ago. Probably because they were a million years ago to France. With all the shit that was happening in her country and his, it all felt like it happened a long, long time ago. 

Damn. Politics seemed to follow her wherever she went, no matter how distant she put herself and the city and country. Gone were the days where she could've just left all that behind. Gone was her childhood. 

These thoughts plagued her as she pushed her way out of the palace and into the city. From there, she found the city gates and made her way out into the countryside. She relaxed for a minute and let her feet drag her anywhere. 

Then she panicked. 

She was lost.


	17. XVII

**(pst- i'm getting less familiar with roman numerals as we go on, if i make a mistake with the roman numerals then you have my permission to yell at me. :)**

_Okay, calm down._ France told herself. _I'm not lost. I simply don't know where I am._ The rational part of her brain told her that those were the same thing. She promptly told the rational part of her mind to fuck off. The rational part of her mind did not fuck off. Sad. 

The next thing the rational part of her mind did was make a game plan. Thanks, rational part of her mind. 

_Should we maybe find a town?_ The rational part of her mind reasoned. 

_Nah._ The not rational part of her mind said. _Let's not._

France went with the rational part of her mind. She wandered around forever until she found a road. 

_That's good! Roads mean civilization!_

By the time she had gotten to the town, it was around mid-afternoon, almost to be evening. Almost she just wanted to ask for directions and carry on, but that most likely wouldn't be the safest option. So she wanted to stay in an inn, mostly because she wanted to not be walking around in the dark, but also to get revenge on Jack. Because fuck Jack. 

After she had gotten a room which I'm not going to write about because I suck at remembering how to book a room at an inn, she had walked up one flight of stairs and entered her room. In which she remembered that she didn't bring anything. So that was also great. But she had to live with it, so she slept in her day clothes. 

Back where everyone actually knew where people were, Jack was kinda-sorta panicking. Well, he was panicking. 

He couldn't think of why she would get away from him, though he had a suspicion it was because of his comment on food poisoning, which he didn't understand. Though he did remember that she told him that "Pole" was her best friend. Why the author never mentioned this, he didn't know. 

Another thing, he had figured out that France wasn't poisoning Northern, mostly because he had gotten sick while she was gone. Yep, again. He needs to stop getting sick. So it couldn't be France, but it also probably wouldn't be anyone in his family, because logic. So who could it be? 

Well, that was the least of his worries currently. What _was_ the most of his worries France, because A) France's mother would freak if she found out, and B) Well, it was his fiance. He didn't want her to get _murdered_ or anything. **(good choice)**

While Jack was busy panicking about France being lost, France's mother was also panicking for a whole different reason. Because she is a good mother. 

See, while Avignon was busily causing an absolute ruckus around the city, Normandy wasn't getting any letters from her husband anymore, and she was sure that it was the cause of the meddling family that she was staying with. 

On the eve of the 15th night of September, Normandy made plans to set sail for her kingdom. So what if they still had a diplomatic tie? France could stay. In fact, Normandy was perfectly fine with France staying. It was easier for their plan to go through. 

So all was fine when she told England that she would be going back to her homeland. Because England was so untrusting of Normandy, his look of relief didn't shock her one bit. 

"Pack your bags Avignon, we're leaving," She told the servant while the girl sat on her bed, reading a book. 

"What- why?" Avignon asked in reply to her command. "Weren't we supposed to stay here?" A disheveled look what with her and her face told Normandy that Vichy hadn't told the girl that she should have been ready at a moment's notice. 

"We're leaving. That's final. Now pack your belongings," While Avignon looked as though she was about to protest, Normandy gave her a look telling her not to argue. And it worked. The room was left empty, with no room for discussion. 

**school's a bitch, I'm sorry this is late**


	18. XVIII

**TW: A little bit of blood, d//th (e, a)**

"I thought you were lost! I thought you had been killed!" 

On the 16th night of September, France had found her way home, to Jack acting as though he was her mother. It was times like this when France regretted her mother's decision to marry this dolt. By the way, where was her mother? 

"Haven't we established that I can take care of myself?" France groaned.

"Have we?" Jack replied sarcastically. "I really hadn't thought we'd've done that," **(Yes, that's a word. I use it regularly.)**

Once France was locked in her room (I mean, you can't blame Jack, he's always paranoid!), she finally looked at the map that was hanging on her wall to figure out where she had gone. **(I know nothing about the United Kingdom. Why am I even writing this?)**

After studying it over and over before realizing that she wasn't going to find the little town that she was in, she took a moment to just... look at the old map. It was frayed at the edges, and the cloth was slightly yellow, diverting away from the classic white that the maker surely hoped it would stay that way. It was bound to the wall by some nails, so once France had gotten those off, she quickly stuck it in the concealed pocket of her dress. This would help. She hoped. 

So basically, Scotland was stuck under a cart. It was heavy and filled with hay for the cows down south. This wouldn't take long to get off, she had gotten herself stuck under carts many times. 

How she had gotten here was quite a funny story actually, because it wasn't very funny at all. See, she had been pushed down by someone in a scurry to get somewhere and wasn't looking where they were going. Then, this cart rolled over her and now she was stuck under it. 

And helping her did not seem to be in anyone's interest at the moment. 

Which was fine, she'd done this many times! But this cart was again, very heavy. And it wasn't the best for getting off of her. Maybe coming to Scotland wasn't the best idea ever. But no matter. What her focus was getting this damn cart off of her. Which didn't seem to be coming off of her. Because it was heavy. Oops. 

So with all her might, she tried throwing the cart off of her. No luck prevailed. She tried again, but still nothing. Was this insanity?

As she was pondering what and what not was insanity, the driver got into the cart. With a flick of his reigns, the horses dragged the cart over her body. 

Killing her instantly. 

Well, this was great. She was a... ghost? 

She remembered a flash a pain, followed by nothing, followed by a clamor of voices. She could see her own dead body, but she couldn't see her real body, or whatever the body of a ghost was called. Other than that, she felt kind of like a real person. Just dead.

And she wasn't hungry anymore. That was good. 

Seeing her body out of her body was... weird. Like it was some sort of dream? No, it was death. Y'know, that makes more sense. 

So now what was she going to do? Cry like a baby? No, at least she can still scare people. 

_Well,_ she supposed. _I think I might need to go home._


	19. XIX

"Holy sh- MOM???" 

So this was a... surprise. His mother was a ghost. Like, France's sister ghost. He could see her. But he wasn't sure if anyone else could see her. 

"Hey." She waved. 

The past week was pretty normal, to be honest. He got a letter from Germany, but still pretty normal. Granted, Germany didn't write to him that often, but the week was normal besides that. 

Yeah, so now his mom was a ghost. All good times have to come to an end, He thought. 

"So, how are you doing?" His mom asked him. Jack was visibly angry. 

"Yeah, avoid the elephant in the room." He formed his dad's name on his mouth, but what came out was definitely not his dad's name. "Monarchy?" 

"Who-" Now that his mum was a ghost, he felt like it was only right to cut her off at least once in his life. "France's sister. Ghost. Wanna see if you can see her." His mother looked outraged because he cut her off. 

"Why are you calling my sister?" France asked as she came down the steps. The way that they were designed was awkward as they couldn't see France until the word sister came out of her mouth, because a wall was covering the stairs all the way down except for the last couple of steps. Man, they needed to fix that. That was a terrible designing issue. 

"Oh. I see," She muttered as Jack gestured to his mom. "Wow. How'd you die?"

"Does it really mat- stuck under a cart. Jesus, it takes a long time to walk back. I thought ghosts could float or something."

"I know!" The infamous Monarchy had finally made her appearance. With her signature white dress and her hair all done up, she was stunning as ever. "The image that I had of ghosts was so wrong after I became one!" 

Jack compared the differences between his mom and France's sister. They both looked grainy and out of focus, and they both were a few shades paler. Other than that, he couldn't see anything else they had in common. They both looked as they did when they were alive, (he assumed that Monarchy had looked like that when she was alive) though his mother looked younger. Maybe before Wales was born. She looked younger, which Jack could understand. Wales could make anyone age ten years in ten minutes. 

Speaking of Wales, where was she? Ah, there she is.

**_HI!_**

Yes, hello, now shut up, I need to do my narrating job. 

"Are you all insane or are you seriously talking to _air?"_ The great star of his uncle named Ireland had finally made his entrance. Being the only one there (except for Wales and his father,) who couldn't see ghosts or wasn't a ghost, Jack figured that the scene must've looked pretty outlandish to him. His poor uncle. 

"How long were you here?" Ireland was standing next to a pole, mostly leaning on it, the scar on his nose popping out under the lamps. 

"Just since France asked someone how they died." He looked at his nails. "So, how'd they die?" 

"Uhm..." Jack looked at France like a panicked dog. France calmly took the lead. 

"I know that this might be a surprise," her heels clicked on the ground and she put a hand on his shoulder. "But we can see ghosts."


	20. XX

"Oh I know," France looked back at him in confusion. "What do you mean? You... know?" 

"I know, you know, ghost lore! Everyone knows it and you two seem to be on the receiving end of that." Ireland laughed as if France and he were sharing a secret joke. The "joke" did not have the intended effect that most jokes normally have, which is to amuse the listener. 

"Um, okay, creepy old guy, but okay," Monarchy looked at her nails, like one of those teenagers who thought they were 'so cool'

"I doubt he even heard you," Scotland replied. "Why am I even a ghost? Do I have unfinished business or-" 

"Anyway, there is a reason I came down," Ireland unknowingly cut off Scotland, which angered her and she almost started to yell at him before she realized that he couldn't see her. "Your father is off to the Germanic Kingdom -yes, it's called that now, poor Prussia had a little too much to drink- to find supporters there. See, we know, France." Ireland accusingly pointed a finger straight at her. "You're plotting to kill us." 

\---

Everything went to hell after that. 

"What? No!" France protested. 

"Yeah, France wouldn't hurt a fly!" Jack added to France's very convincing argument. France started to agree before processing his words more closely. 

Then she punched him. "I would hurt a fly." 

As Jack was rubbing his arm and France looked as though she was planning to punch him again, Ireland slipped out of the picture. A couple of dusty hallways later, he was back in his room, where, miraculously, Vichy stood. 

"I let you come here," he growled. "You spent two weeks here and you've already ruined everything!" 

"Three weeks," Ireland grumbled under his breath. Vichy paid no attention to this. 

"We are going back to _my_ kingdom," Ireland looked up from twiddling his thumbs. "And that's final." 

\---

"So, by any chance..." It was about seven minutes after Ireland had gone full bizzare on them and the two ghosts had gone to go do what ghosts do, while France and Great Britain **(you have no idea how much that hurt me, writing that)** were just chilling on a couch, France reading another book and The UK trying to convince her to look at the 'magic trick' he had learned recently.

France looked back at him. "No, I will not look at your silly card trick." 

Jack ignored this completely. "Do you have any idea what Uncle Ireland said means?" Strangely, France got defensive over this and straight up walked out of the room. Jack soon came running after her. 

"When a girl walks out of a room that's your cue to not follow her." Wales came up to him, matching his stride. "Especially as angry as she is. I mean, just look at her!" To prove her point, Wales gestured up ahead of them. "What'd you say?" 

Jack waved her off of him like an annoying bug that he wanted to get rid off. In some ways he supposed she was an annoying bug he wanted to get rid off. "Nothing important."

"Tell me!!" She whined. 

"It's a long story. With Uncle Ireland, ghosts, and France." 

"Tell me! Tell me!" 

"I said no." Jack silenced her with a glare. And then he continued on. 

"What part of 'go away' do you not understand?" France muttered as Jack came up to her side. 

"That fact you never said it." France paid no attention to him. "Was it something I said?"

France looked back at him with a fire in her eyes. "Of course it was something you said! To just bring that up all of the sudden..." Jack tried to comfort her in any way but it didn't work. "Just please go away."


	21. XXI

**Seriously, chapter 20? Nice lmao**

**Sorry for hiatus, was on vacation :)**

France had then locked herself in her room and didn’t come out until the next day, at least that was what she wished she did. But after about thirty minutes in her room, she gave up and just came out. **(Yeah France we all know you’re bi- hold up what? I didn’t say anything)**

Honestly, she really had no idea why she freaked out. She supposed it had something to do with being called a traitor, but she wasn’t sure. Whatever, she brushed it off and decided she would just act like nothing happened. Good times. 

Wales came running the opposite way as France as she was going down the steps, causing her to topple over and fall onto back. 

"God, I'm sorry," she muttered to France, before continuing her way upstairs. _Weird_ , she thought. _It's like she was in a rush for something._ Eh, she brushed it off. Maybe it wasn't anything to worry herself over. 

No one was in the sitting room when she entered. Typical of the place, yet France couldn't shove away the feeling that something was wrong. And something, in fact was wrong. She just couldn't place _what._

There was, actually, something wrong. Well, not _wrong,_ but wrong. 

After the tragic death of his father, Germany had finally come to England again. **(Yay...?)**

The last time he had come to Jacks home country was when he was 11, coming with his father on a diplomatic mission. That was 10 years ago, before his father had become a stumbling drunk like what caused his death. Now 21, and the ruler of a country, he‘d come again. And though he could drink after his 21st birthday, he was too scared of death to drink. 

Germany had sent out a letter to The UK that he was certain would come after he had come to the country, and he wasn’t sure if it was comforting or slightly disturbing that his friend wouldn’t have an idea that he was coming over. Of course, he should've just sent the letter to England, but talking to adults is scary. Or maybe he just thought that. The former was better for him to imagine. 

And then, he was off. 

A lot of things had changed since he'd last been there. But a lot of things didn't change, which was comforting as germany never really liked change, and his life was so full of change that just t be in a kingdom where their only major changes was that France and The United Kingdom were engaged and that the queen had died. Other than that, not much had happened. 

The time he had while he set sail was not the best time he'd ever had. He' d been blown off course by the giant storm that blew down from the north, somehow ending up in Russia, then, after taking a week to get his bearings and attempting to make some sort of agreement with the Tsar, (he just kept getting distracted) he kept going and had a run inn with some Nordics, then, finally getting to the island. 

But not the side he wanted to get on. 

He never really liked Scotland. Both the country and the person scared and disturbed him. The person was scary and never sincere with anything she said. While the country was cold, barren, and reminded him of Russia. Not the most pleasant landscape. 

Obviously, going by boat wasn't really the safest on this trip, and according to Germany, by land was the safest option. This slowed him down very, very much, probably by at least a week and a half, and that wasn't including the time spend at the Russian Empire and the extra time crossing the dicey Nordic waters. So his entire trip was great. 

All in all, his trip had taken about six weeks, and The UK had definitely gotten his letter after all that. However, something unexpected happened. 

_Jack,_

_Hello, as you may have noticed that I am not at your house anymore. That's unfortunate, because I got a letter from my mother telling me to come home. You might be asking, why?_

_I honestly have no idea why._

_France_

Vichy smiled as he finished the letter. 

**bruh mega sorry this is late**

**christmas and vacation has made this lateeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**


	22. XXII

Jack burried his face in his hands as the letter that he had read crushed every single hope that was currently starting to come true. "Damnit!" He didn't realize that tears were streaming down his face until he looked up and slammed his head back down. "Damnit France!" He wasn't one to swear very often, but something like that just crushed him, even though he knew that France had left on her mother's accord. 

Wales, hearing her brother curse loudly from the other room, came barging in, saying, "MOM SAID NO SWEARI-" but noticed his eyes, bloodshot from crying so much. 

"You okay?" Jack felt a weight dip down his bed, knowing that Wales had come to sit next to him, but not really acknowledging it. Jack said nothing. 

Wales, realizing that Jack didn't want to talk yet still wanted to comfort him, just sat next to him. Because she's a good sister. 

After a minute or two, a knock at the door interrupted this carefully planned sibling bonding moment. 

"I'll get it." Jack muttered, wiping some tears away and then walking up to the door, feeling a set of eyes on him but not showing any sign he knew. 

It was Germany. Jack had gotten his letter about two weeks ago, soaking up every word, mostly because Germany hadn't been there in what, nine years? Ten years? Jeez, a decade. 

"Hello," Jack refrained from his voice hitching up. 

"Hey," He waved. "Have jou been crying?" 

"Lovely introduction. Haven't seen you in a decade and the first thing you say is 'have you been crying'? 

“What else would you like me to say?” The taller man looked down at his (frankly short) friend, watching him trying to figure out whether Germany was joking or not. **(oh yeah btw Germany is freakishly tall like 2.05m and Jack is like 1.75m so yeah France (1.8m) is taller than Jack- random world building)**

When Jack started to laugh, Germany knew that he finally knew what Germany was saying. A swift invite later, Wales was attacking this person with claims of 'STRANGER DANGER' 

On the waves of the English Sea, France paced idly in her cabin, bored out of her mind. For some unknown reason, she wasn't allowed out of her room, with food being delivered to her room. The only good thing to come out of this? She knew who her dad is. 

Vichy Monarchy, supposedly the 'ruler' of the lower half of the French Territory, yet it seemed as though he was the ruler of all of it, because he seemed as though he was controlling her mother. **(No, monarchy's name is not monarchy monarchy. Vichy ain't her dad)**

And France hated him. Sure, hate was a strong word, but France thought it was fitting for this man who she called her father for ten minutes, before realizing how much of a jerk he was. 

Someone came into her room just as her stomach rumbled, commenting something that was soon lost to the wind. France quickly noticed that it was Verillas, a servant of her father, and by association, a servant of her. Disgusting. 

"Let me see my father." France declared. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea miss, he’s not in a very good mood right now.” 

"I don't give a shit of what my fathers mood is, let me fucking see him!" Verillas said nothing, letting France go ahead out of her cabin. 

She found her father's cabin in less than five minutes, seeing as it was near her own. She barged right in, not caring where he was busy or not. An untacked map flew across the room. 

"Wha-" And then she promptly punched him. 

In a snap of her father's fingers, she was taken to the holding cell.


	23. XXIII

So this was what her life had come to. Seeing her sister get dragged away by the monster that France called her father. It was disgusting, really. 

Monarchy didn't really mind being a ghost. She didn't really need to eat, or drink, or sleep. All she did was float around, free from the responsibilities of ruling a country. And she had no injuries, aside from the bandages around her neck from when she was beheaded. She held no hard feelings against France, in fact, it was kind of freeing. She really didn't have to do anything, just walk around, and earlier she had figured out how to float. It was slightly challenging, yes, but who cares? She wasn't going to be doing anything else in her death. 

Teleportation, however was a talent she had yet to master.

And as of right now, it was something that she really needed to learn. 

The imminent doom that awaited her was just at the murky blackness of the sea. See, ghosts... they could die. It was a strange concept, but while they were very strong and could withstand most anything that would kill a human, water was their fatal weakness. And this, this could unlock permadeath for a ghost like a premature ghost like Monarchy. 

_Concentrate!_ The voice in her head shouted at her. _Teleportation! You've been a ghost for too long to not know this!_ She told the voice to shut up. 

Monarchy considered herself lucky to be a ghost. Whatever happened with permadeath, or normal death for non-ghost people, she didn't want to know. She thought it was just a blank wasteland of nothing. And she would miss so much if that happened. 

And that's why she had to keep working. 

_Come on, up!_ She internally yelled. In the back of her mind, she knew it was pointless. She was going to die, she couldn't stop it. It was the same suffocating feeling she had gotten when France was about to behead her. 

She had been so young. They both were, Monarchy was 16 and France... France was 11. How the author ever decided to not keep track of dates- uh, I mean, how France had overthrown her was beyond a mystery to her. Monarchy would've just past her 23 birthday, yet she was kept in the annoying body of a sixteen-year-old. 

Monarchy had given up on the whole teleportation thing. She was going to die. There wasn't anything she could do about it. 

Who would've thought a simple misstep would've taken her to her death? Ghosts were supposed to be immortal, what happened to that? 

God, she hated boats. 

A black abyss. 

Floating. No; sinking.

And then nothing. 

It was horrible. France loved her sister, despite chopping her head off. It was just a phase. France knew about the dangers of water to her sister, about permadeath. 

It was just, she was hoping that she could spend the rest of the time she had on earth with her sister. But with one misstep, Monarchy had left her. 

As for France, two people she couldn't possibly fight and win were dragging her back to the holding cells. She was trying to take her mind off of what was occurring currently by focusing on other things. How shocked Monarchy looked when Jack first saw her. When France first realized she could see ghosts. The one moment with her mother. How had everything spiralled out of hand since then? 

She just wished she could go back to the old days, the good memories before all of this shit had happened. It all washed away when she met Jack. 

Was it his fault? 

No, it couldn't have been. Maybe it was some unknown force that was hellbent to ruin her life. All she wanted to do was to just... live her life. She didn't ask to be a princess. A queen. 

Cold stone bricks hit her skin as she was thrown on the floor. That was great. This was great. 

_Everything is fine._ She repeated to herself, curling inwards to conserve heat. 

_Everything is fine._

_Everything is fine._

_Everything is not fine._


	24. XXIV

"I'm alive!" She whispered. So teleportation really worked. It really shouldn't've **(just gonna keep annoying y'all with these)** worked, but Monarchy was never one to judge defying the laws of physics. At least, not when it worked out for her. 

Honestly, Monarchy really didn't want to do that ever again. It was breathtaking, in the way that was bad, as she couldn't breathe. It squeezed her, made her nauseous, everything bad about teleporting as a ghost. She wasn't going to be doing that anymore. 

Boy, Normandy was not happy when she heard that her husband was detaining her daughter. she couldn't do anything, of course, but she was still angry. 

It seemed that all their plans were falling apart while the British were just getting stronger. She hoped that he hadn't declared war yet. That would bad. 

\---------

_It's fine. You're okay. The man said, before he lunged at her._

Startled, France gasped and shot up in a cold sweat. It took her a couple deep breathes to realize that she wasn't _there_ anymore. This place had awoken the nightmares that lurked deep inside her, that killed any hope she had for a future for herself. She didn't want to relive that place anymore. It was a cause that she believed in, but not the way she wanted it to play out. 

The monarchy, the royalty, **(Aren't those the same thing?)** Hell, even her sister! Nothing could escape their grasp. She hated it, loved it, but hated it at the same time. She never let herself remember that time, but now that she was stuck in a dinky holding cell, that was the only thing she could think of. 

She wanted to scream, but she had long figured out that more people were near her, and as rude as she was, that would be more rude than she wanted to be. 

France wondered if she was going home as a prisoner, or one of war. 

\-------

Honestly, Spain really, _really_ hated her dad. Iberia was the worst person she had ever met in the history of meeting people. When the letter came that The United Kingdom was marrying France, Spain wasn't angry at him, or England, she was angry at her dad. 

And yet, when he was assassinated, she just felt nothing. It's funny, she should've felt something. Anything, anger, sadness, happiness, y'know, something. She was queen, sure, but the coronation had not happened yet, so why should she care? 

The second she thought about it the second she stopped feeling empty. A chest, in her mother's old room, told by her father to never touch it. Her father wasn't around anymore, so he couldn't tell Spain what to do. 

But according to him, three year-old Portugal could. 

"You can't go this way!" He said in Portuguese, with that small baby voice that all toddlers do. With one hand he blocked the doorway and the other was just hanging at his side because his arms weren't long enough to actually reach the other side. Spain chuckled, squatted down and pat his head, the fluffy mass of hair already messed up. 

"I can. I can do whatever I want." Spain rose up, her light yellow dress already crinkled enough. **(Wearing Yellow to a Funeral vibes)**

"Not true!" Portugal's finger rose up like a detective in a Mafia game. "Dad told you not to!" 

Spain wasn't afraid to be blunt with her brother. "He's dead. He can't tell me what to do." 

Portugal sighed in defeat. "Fine." 

Her mother's bedroom was closed, like it always was ever since 1778, the day her mother died of tuberculosis. It was frightful, those last few days where her, pillow, bedsheets and mouth were all stained a crimson shade. When she entered the room, she noticed that it hadn't changed. The blood was still there. 

"What's that?" Portugal asked, pointing at the blood. God, Spain jumped. Toddlers can be scary when they want to be. Even when they aren't trying. 

Spain had forgotten that Portugal wasn't there when this happened. He was a product of his father's affairs with some other person, not her mother. 

"It's nothing." She muttered, a tad uncomfortable. 

She immediately went over to the foot of the bed, swiftly opening the chest and rummaging through it. Portugal watched over her shoulder. 

She pulled out random clothes and journals that she may have saved for later. And there, at the bottom, was a map. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOOh boy it's been a while since i actually updated this on sundays   
> this kicked my ass trying to write but i hope y'all enjoy


	25. XV

Germany could tell something was wrong with Jack. It was frankly obvious, yet somehow no one else had noticed. He dragged his feet, showed no interest to things that would have excited him, and he was quiet and reserved. Well, he was always a little quiet, compared to his sister at least. 

But instead of helping his friend, he was working out even _more_ peace agreements with England. It seemed as that every little detail had to be sorted out. Hate was not strong enough of a word to describe the emotion he had towards formal paperwork. A new found respect was something Germany held for his dad, having to deal with all this.

Yeah, this was slightly boring. Literally all France did was sit there, but the ghost couldn’t really get off the ship. She’d die in the waters below. 

_AND WE WOULD BE GETTING THERE SOMETIME LATER THAT DAY_

Get out of here- how are you on this ship??

_I AM MAGIC_

Punctuation is a great thing, Wales. Anyway, back to the story, without plot conveniences like this for another chapter. 

And Monarchy was already really, really bored. Understandable, but you'd except the girl to not be bored. After all, time did move quicker for ghosts. 

But she did find ways to pass the time. One of them was trying to convince random people they could see her. 

"You can see me!" The ghost pretended as though her hand was a wristwatch and attempted to hypothesis the random sailor who was drinking his life away.

After numerous attempts to try to hypnotize the man, she just figured that she could just listen to the conversation that they were having. She didn't learn much, just that the sailor's wife was sad. 

Oh, and that and that they were about four hours away from their homeland. Monarchy kind of wanted to tell her sister this, but she realized that that wouldn't be the best idea in the entire world. Why? She didn't know. But she did know that she had that weird feeling in her stomach, the one telling her not to do it. Instead, she would just wait it out for when they finally got to France. Part of Monarchy knew that she was just going to be thrown in a different jail cell anyway, just on the mainland.

A single dress was all that Avignon owned now. Sure, she used to have a book or two, and maybe a brush, but they had gone somewhere else that she was unaware of so a single dress. The simple white dress that she wore in London where she was where she had met the one person. Northern, she was pretty sure his name was. A direction. but she didn't want to know what would be waiting for her if she went to the opposite of that direction. It was her homeland, sure, but also, she could tell if a battle was brewing. And right now, it was pretty obvious. She shoved a couple of pins for hair in her pocket. Her hair wouldn't fix its self and she really needed something else to do other than sit around for the next three hours. She walked past the place where the sailors hung out, slightly in disgust. She didn't like alcohol. She tried it once as a child and never liked it. Though, now that she was 16, it was probably time for her to try it again. Nevermind, she thought when she smelled it. She made it over to the mirror in her room and shoved her hand in her pocket. Wait, where had those hairpins gone? 

Monarchy first noticed the hairpins while walking over back to the underground. These could be useful. Not for her, but for her sister. France first noticed them while she was moping around in her prison cell, because what else do you expect the girl to do? Something productive? Monarchy had stopped by earlier, to have a little chit-chat because she was bored. These must've fallen out of her pockets. Monarchy was long gone, however, and France had figured that these would be useful. But she really, really needed to learn how to pick locks.


End file.
